Powerline
by Shikuro-kun
Summary: Tharja plans to bring back Robin's memories by channeling all her magic on one particular night in the entire year, when she can achieve the extent of her true power. However, little do they know that the answers they seek might not be the ones they were looking for... AU Robin x Tharja


I was really hoping to finish this by October, but things came up and life got in the way. But nonetheless, here's another fic for you guys to enjoy!

Oh, and Happy Valentine's Day!

\- Disclaimer: Fire Emblem characters do not belong to me.

\- Notice: May contain spoilers. Storyline may deviate from original video game. Contains fantasy violence, mild language, and suggested themes.

* * *

Dark magic, the manipulation of supernatural forces commonly used for malevolent purposes. It is the shadowed counterpart of benevolent white magic cast by mages and clerics alike. Its origins trace back to the primitive, ritualistic practices in summoning spirits and spiritual entities. Sorcerers, dark mages and even those blessed with the Shadowgift have wielded this power throughout the ages; practicing a variety of spells, rituals, curses and hexes. It is a deadly force that requires years of practice and skill to conjure even the simplest of spells.

Every user is gifted with the same capabilities, though on one particular night in the entire year, they can achieve the extent of their true power.

Tharja stood in her tent, mixing the ingredients in her cauldron slowly. She took one of the jarred containers by the side, throwing in a dash of bat's blood. Smoke billowed over, the contents in her pot shifting green. She took the piece of parchment in her hand, chanting a spell in her native tongue, Plegian. The cauldron bubbled to life, responding with a series of small sparks until she inserted the last ingredient, a lock of golden hair.

Tharja held out her hand above the pot, feeling the heat crawl up her palms and into her fingers. If anyone would've walked in, they'd think her to be mad. Or at least madder than she already was. She hissed in pain, biting her bottom lip as the smoke changed violet, wrapping around her golden ring. It took form of a hollow snake, roping itself along her fingers, tightening with considerable amount of pain. She winced, gritting her teeth through the suffering. It was but a small cost for a very rewarding spell.

Once it had redeemed its payment, the smoke dispersed, vanishing into thin air. Tharja flexed her fingers, feeling the steady course of power surging in her ring. It had taken her weeks to conjure something of this magnitude and hopefully with all her trial and errors, it would work this time around. Tharja turned her palm over, noticing a slightly deep cut where blood seeped through. She hurried over to her chest and took the salve for her injury. It left a light sting when she applied it, but she was accustomed to far worse. Tharja crossed her tent and raised her hand just above her head.

Time to test out her new toy.

* * *

The Shepherds were huddled together around the campfire, feasting on the bear Vaike managed to catch. It was a peaceful, quiet night as every soldier ate to their content beneath the starry sky. Not a single Risen was spotted since they first made camp and everyone wished they were as lucky as this every day.

Fredrick took a portion of his meat, which was skewered through a stick. He held it out with utmost caution, his face contorting with disgust. "Surely there was other game better than this?" He asked Vaike who already finished his share.

"Well...yeah," he admitted and focused on getting seconds.

"There was a pack of deer in the clearing earlier today," Stahl enlightened Fredrick.

"But then Vaike made too much noise and scared them away!" Ricken finished and all eyes turned to the fearless fighter.

"So what?" Vaike extended his arms outwards. Fredrick sighed and lowered his head. He'd be glad to take deer over bear any day. "Look here squirt," Vaike pointed out his index finger at Ricken. "I was able to make up for it. Without your ol' teach you'd be starving."

Ricken rolled his eyes and massaged his temples. Honestly, the man gave himself too much credit! "No, if you hadn't been reckless and stepped on those twigs like we warned you we'd be eating much better!" The young sorcerer gestured with his right hand. The two bickered over the topic as Fredrick held his stick of bear meat in his hand.

Gaius decided to stop by Virion's side around the campfire. "Hey wanna bet?" He asked casually as the blue haired noble took a swig of water from his canteen.

"It depends. How much are you willing to wager?" Virion narrowed his eyes at the hearth where the rod of leftover bear meat hung over.

"Oh I don't want your gold." Gaius clarified. Virion looked a little confused. "We're betting on these," he brought forward an assortment of candy from the side of his belt. "I'm waging my finest sweets from Feroxi borders to every corner of Valm."

Virion wasn't much for sweets, but with the war efforts drawing out much longer than he predicted, consuming a little sugar did liven the days at camp. "Do you happen to have any Valmese truffles?"

Gaius gave him a toothy smile. "I've got twenty."

"Very well," Virion grinned and wiped his mouth clean with a small towel. "But what do you have to gain from all this?"

"Well," Gaius gave his answer some thought. "You do have those two shortcakes from the last town."

Virion grit his teeth grudgingly. He'd been saving them for tonight, a day when he'd done litle fighting so he could enjoy the savory, sweet flavor of strawberries and whipped cream under the beautiful moonlight.

"You still in?" Gaius asked, sensing Virion's reluctance. Before Virion could second guess himself, he agreed.

"My wager is on the bear. We all know Fredrick has a sensitive spot when it comes to large game."

Now it was time for Gaius to grind his teeth too. If he had the chance he would've chosen the bear as well. "Fine," they both sat on the opposite end of Fredrick who was still busy contemplating on eating.

"I can skip on the meat tonight. There should be some bread leftover-"

"Nope, no more bread." Nowi shook her head. "Maribelle took the last of it." Fredrick glanced over at the troubadour who kept her fingers tightly wrapped around her food. She obviously wasn't willing to share.

"There's no way I'm eating any of that," Maribelle took a hearty bite of her loaf. Fredrick's stomach began to churn with hunger. He needed something to eat, but the bear would be his last resort.

"You know," Robin gave Fredrick a light pat on his shoulder. "It could be much worse." His words did very little to remedy the great knight's anxiety but he continued on. "And it can't be that bad if Lissa's already eaten it." Together they watched Lissa lower her stick of barbecued bear and shared a small, light laugh.

"True," Fredrick realized how silly he'd been acting. He needed the energy and strength for tomorrow to secure the way for Lord Chrom and his Shepherds. "As wise as ever Robin. You're right, I musn't let this fear take hold of my entirety. After all, by the end of the day a man needs his meal." He held out his bear meat by the fire before taking a courageous bite. The whole camp roared with laughter and praise.

Virion palmed his face upon losing the bet he'd just waged. "My shortcakes!"

The hearth flickered with life as Tharja approached Robin from behind. She gave him a light tap on his shoulder and he noticed her presence immediately. Her slightest touch stemmed out with an ounce of magic. "May I have a word?" Slowly, he stood and excused himself from Fredrick and the others. When they were out of earshot, Tharja turned around to face Robin.

"Is there something wrong?"

"Not particularly," she looked up at the full, golden moon. Now would be as good a time as any. "But I do require your assistance." She added casually.

"And what might that be?" Robin asked. He hoped it wouldn't involve him being a test dummy for her new hexes. He really needed his sleep tonight.

"I need some ingredients out in the forest. I figured out of all the Shepherds, you would know the area best."

She was indeed right, but Robin contemplated on Tharja's request. It certainly seemed odd. "Wouldn't it be better to find them when it's daylight?"

Tharja shook her head. "I'm afraid not. This ingredient is very rare and only available during moonlight hours."

"What exactly is this...ingredient?" Robin asked, his natural curiosity peaked.

Tharja chewed her inner cheek. "I'm afraid I can't disclose that matter."

Robin huffed. There were times when Tharja was especially secretive about her ingredients for her spells and potions. Would it be in his best interest if he didn't know?

"In any case, I asked you if you wouldn't mind keeping me company. However, I sense that you are uncertain. If that is so, I can't force you to come with me." Tharja spun on her heel and marched away towards the expansive clearing away from camp.

Robin watched her quietly. It wasn't safe to travel out at night all alone and he wasn't the type to just abandon one of his comrades. His hand searched for the hilt of his sword, but he didn't have a single tome by his side. 'No matter, this would have to do.'

Then, without a second thought, Robin chased after the dark mage into the black night.

The winds wracked the trees with tremendous force as leaves danced all around. Robin made sure to stay as close as possible to Tharja. Surely, she must've been cold with the autumn winds blowing against the sheer material of her clothes. Robin took a quick glance at his friend who shivered as they walked side by side. The cloak she wore was too thin, so out of chivalry he parted with his Grimleal jacket and draped it over her shoulders.

Tharja wasn't expecting the gesture but she didn't argue. She wrapped her hands around the cloak and brought it close for her to smell. Robin's scent lingered on the thick, heavy material. It smelled like pine and sweat.

"I'm not going to ask what it is we're searching for, but could you at least give me a clue?" Tharja and Robin locked eyes briefly. "Just so I know what to look out for."

"It's a flower." Tharja answered vaguely. There wasn't any point in beating around the bush. Besides, the flower was but a small fraction of what she needed. Her true intentions lay elsewhere.

"A flower?"

"A moonflower to be exact. I heard from the local townspeople that they grow around the area." The environment had gone rugged as Tharja paused to steady herself on the rocky terrain. Walking around in the woods dressed in heels wasn't ideal. Robin moved forward and offered out his hand. He didn't want her to sprain her ankle on their evening stroll.

"I've seen a few of them back in Ylisstol. If I recall correctly they're an immaculate shade of white." Robin held Tharja's hand throughout the hike. The climate must've dropped a few degrees, but his hand remained unusually warm.

"Yes," Tharja agreed. She was no botanist, but she remembered a good amount since she used them for her healing potions. "In Plegia we have little to no flowers at all," she reminded Robin. After all, they came from the same birthplace, the country of endless sands. "I admit when I first joined the Shepherds, I was shocked to see what the rest of the world looked like. I'd only read and heard about them in books." Robin smiled at her comment. She'd never truly seen what an ocean looked like until they arrived at the Hotrealm.

"It's so much better to see it in person. Books could only describe so much." When they finally reached the end of the slope, a field of moonflowers lay in wait. There was an abundance of them that spread out through the luscious, green grass. In the clearing, the moon was at its peak and the stars twinkled above the dark, deep blue sky.

"We're here," Tharja announced as Robin finally released her hand. He followed behind, running his fingertips along the moonflower's delicate surface.

"I've never seen this many grow in one place," he said in awe. The grass was about waist high and the flowers seemed to extend even further.

Tharja caressed one of them by her side. Now that they were here, she could finally begin. They paused when they reached the middle of the field with the moonlight beating down on them from above. "Robin, you asked me before if I could retrieve your memories."

Robin was a few paces away, but he stood his ground, unsure why Tharja brought up such a subject. "And you tried, but it didn't work out." He didn't sound the least bit disappointed. Tharja had her back against him, remaining aloof in her own mysterious way.

"I've reached out to other people's pasts before and I've always succeeded. You were the first I failed." Tharja was reminded of her bitter defeat. She didn't understand why Robin was immune to her spell. It worked on Libra, Lon' qu and Gregor. It were as though there was some hidden magic blocking off his memories, securing them like a well guarded fort.

"Maybe I'm not supposed to get them back." Robin reasoned out. He didn't want to see her beat herself up for her own failure.

"Are they not important to you?" Tharja turned around and took a step closer, her eyes narrowing at the blonde tactician.

"Of course they are." Robin turned away. Even he had to admit he felt incomplete without them. His memories were a part of his identity.

"Then let me help you. Let me try again." Tharja crossed the distance, her violet eyes glowing brighter than before. If Robin had been anyone else but himself, he may have missed the surge of power flowing around her. It wasn't visible to the naked eye, but Robin felt it in his skin. "Tonight is the one night dark magic is as its peak." The full moon seemed to be much closer to them now. "I'm a lot more competent than I was before."

Robin didn't have anything to lose, but he kept Tharja's safety in mind. The first time she tried, she'd been stung by his own magic which went berserk. It left her with a few burns that hadn't healed for weeks. Tempering with dark magic was a dangerous path.

"Robin," She wasn't just doing it for him. It would also be for herself. For weeks on end she'd wondered why she felt so magnetically drawn to him since their first meeting. She never got an answer. Perhaps the reason was in his memories, in his past.

After a long, painful silence, Robin agreed, if only to calm the anxiety that now stirred in chest. There was a possibility Tharja would succeed, but a far greater chance she would fail. In any case, he wouldn't be able to get any sleep now if he withdrew. "I don't want you to get hurt." He said and stepped back cautiously.

Tharja released a heavy breath, mentally preparing the spell she would cast within a few minutes. "I won't," she flipped open her tome as her hand glowed with sinister, purple circles. "But you will," she chanted the first verse, trapping Robin in a singular violet ring. He was somewhat frightened of what might happen, but he focused on Tharja's figure as she shed his cloak with dramatic effect. He trusted her.

Her cape and long, raven hair rippled with the gust of wind while she locked eyes with him. In that moment she looked incredibly beautiful and dangerous at the same time, a deadly combination that worked well in this situation. He wondered if this was what she looked like whenever she faced the Rise in battle.

Robin realized she was chanting in Plegian, but her accent was so heavy he could only make out every other word. He would remind himself later to polish up on that.

Almost instantly, he felt an uncomfortable tug around his wrists but when he looked to his sides he saw no rope or chains binding him. He figured it must've been the magic working on his body. Tharja took another step, her hand extended as Robin finally broke eye contact between them. It had only been minutes since she began, but the pain quickly escalated to a solid ten in the allotted time. There was a sharp ringing in his ears that rendered him deaf as he knelt to his knees and lost his balance.

The moonflowers shifted left and right as Tharja pressed on, her magic flowing from the ring to her body. She felt much warmer when she was casting spells since the energy traveled from her head to her toes. It was like a surge of electricity that coursed in her veins, supplying her with an endless amount of adrenaline. With a morsel of pity, Tharja watched Robin groan in agony as she worked her spell into his body relentlessly, breaking down the wall that was protecting his deepest memories. It was a tedious task that might take more than ten minutes. She contemplated on stopping after five, but she guessed the magic in his mind would simply repair it with the time he spent to rest. She couldn't afford that, not when she only had one chance.

The only thing that lingered on her mind was the possibility that Robin might die from exertion.

Tharja knit her eyebrows together, concentrating deeply on the depth of her words. No, she couldn't allow Robin to die. Not like this. He would regain his memories and he would be indebted to her. Yes, that sounded ideal. She glanced back at her tome and read the final verse, readying herself for the light at the end of tunnel. She needed to give him back his memories so that he could be whole again, just as he had wished.

Robin bit back a scream as his head spiraled in pain. He felt as though his cranium was smashed into a pile of cemented bricks. Still bound by the invisible ties, he arched back almost as though he were possessed. In all the battles he faced, he never experienced such raw, intense pain until now.

Tharja finished the last words and raised her hand, summoning all the energy within the vicinity to her command. The circle around Robin glowed brighter, the mystical symbols around him moving clockwise until his arms finally collapsed to his sides. He remained silent and dropped his head, his eyes shadowed by the hood of his golden bangs. The circle vanished shortly after and the pained screams and grunts he released fell silent.

Tharja closed her tome but kept her distance. It was hard to tell if the spell worked at all. "Robin?" There was no response as the tactician kept his head low. That didn't seem to be a good sign. "Oh gods," she muttered to herself. "Robin can you hear me?" Tharja fled to the blonde boy, her hands resting squarely on his broad shoulders. "Robin it's me, Tharja." Worry spread through her face, her eyes desperately searching for any sign of recognition.

Robin lifted his head slowly, the color in his eyes glowing dangerously red. Tharja swallowed thickly as she stayed rooted right beside him. His eyes were never red, they were a deep shade of verdant green. This meant only one thing, her spell had failed.

But maybe it hadn't, at least not entirely. She may have failed to bring back his memories, but she unlocked something else, something she probably shouldn't have. Tharja eased herself to stand. Robin was emitting a sensation she'd felt before, a dark, malevolent aura that radiated off his body like steam. It was the familiar working of ancient, dark magic. Tharja stepped back until she was out of arms reach. This wasn't Robin anymore.

Robin pulled himself to stand and leaned back to inhale a deep breath of air. He closed his eyes and relished the feeling as though it had been a while since he'd done so. A wicked grin graced his lips as he extended his arms outwards and the flowers spiraled around him. He sighed in content and dropped his arms, then removed the glove from his right hand. The mark of Grima was glowing brightly with power, the tattoo of six eyes staring right back at him. He held it up and recognized the full moon in his presence then locked in on Tharja standing across from him.

"Who are you?" Tharja asked sternly. She held the tome in her hand at the ready.

Robin sighed and flexed his fingers, demonstrating a small portion of his power. Dark flames danced on his fingertips before he clenched his hand into a fist and they disappeared instantly. "That depends," Robin replied. His voice didn't sound like his own. "Are you the one responsible for summoning me?"

Tharja wasn't intimidated by this new presence, but she should've been. The aura that spiked from Robin's body was so great, she could feel her own power waning in comparison to his.

"Not much of a talker I see," Robin shot her a menacing grin. "We'll have to change that." By the time Tharja blinked, he was standing so close she could feel his breath on her lips. She attempted to pull back, but he took her by the wrist firmly. "Now tell me love, are you the one who summoned me?"

Tharja didn't know who this spirit or demon was, but she decided to play along for her safety. "Yes."

Robin softened his reddened eyes, briefly loosening the grip on her wrist. He then caressed the side of her cheek with the back of his other hand. "Such a beautiful, pale complexion," Robin's eyes dragged over to the slope of her neck hidden by her golden neck piece. "You are a dark mage," he closed his eyes and took another deep breath. "And a powerful one at that."

"Who are you?" Tharja asked again. She needed some answers.

Robin released her wrist. "Would you like to take a guess?"

"A spirit or demon?" Tharja was well accustomed dealing with both, but she decided to got with the latter.

Robin laughed, amused by her suggestions. "And if I am neither?" He pulled back the weft of hair that hid the beauty of her ear. "What if I am a god?" He whispered, his breath sending shivers down her spine.

The blood in Tharja's entire body went cold. No. He couldn't be. Then that would mean-

"Yes my love, I am the wings of despair, the breath of ruin, the fell dragon, Grima..." Robin finished for her. He allowed her to pull away to confirm her fears.

"But the spell..." Tharja stopped herself. The spell was meant to bring back memories, not summon beings from other worlds.

"I have you to thank for that. You see, I've been living dormant in this makeshift vessel for quite some time." He tugged at the collar of his shirt with disdain. "My power was diminished, considerably so since my feeble attempt to restore the memories from my past backfired. Try as I might to take control, I was too weak to take possession of this...boy." He looked up at the golden moon. "Only the power from a talented mage would've been my salvation."

Grima's words shed some light over Tharja's suspicion. The marks on Robin's cloak were Grimleal and the reason why he always wore the glove on his right hand began to make sense. He was Grima's vessel, but he didn't seem to know it after losing his memories.

"Now that I have complete and utter control, I believe I am in your debt," Grima said appreciatively and took one of the moonflowers to his right.

"I want Robin back."

Grima made sure not to crush the flower in his hand. Instead, he sealed his lips in a tight line. "It would be wise not to test my patience, woman."

Tharja cast the beginnings of a spell and held out her hand. If it was necessary to put him down in combat, then she would do just that. But she had to make sure she wouldn't beat him up too bad. This was Robin's body after all.

Grima clenched his jaw, restraining the urge to blow her to bits. He didn't know how much power he had gained since his return. Perhaps a duel was in order to test the measure of his new-found strength. At once, Tharja shot a singular spell in his direction. He merely stepped to his side with ease. Grima held out his hand as if to redirect the beam, bending it slightly away from himself. She was so sure it would hit him, the spell never failed to impale her foes before.

"Impressive," he commended her with the magic she had just used. It was a strong, advanced spell and she did well to cast it at him. "I can see now I wasn't wrong about you."

Tharja grit her teeth, suddenly feeling highly under leveled. He swayed her spell just as easily as snapping a twig in half. If this truly was Grima, she would be dueling for more than Robin's freedom. She would be dueling for her own life.

Tharja prepped another spell as he released the moonflower from his hand, its petals withering away into ashes. The flicker in his crimson eyes darkened for a second as he cast his attack, the bolt of dark magic forming a straight, sharp line directed at her. Tharja shielded herself in a magical orb, though the charge was far greater than she expected.

When the smoke and ground cleared, she fell to one knee, clutching the tome tight in her hand. Had she not prepared the ring tonight, she would've lost a limb or two.

Grima's shadow loomed over her as she quickly shot another spell. It was incredible how fast he closed the distance between the two of them. Logically speaking, it shouldn't have been humanely possible, and yet he did with very little effort. After a short one-sided battle, Grima took Tharja by the neck, leveling her off the ground a few inches. She struggled to breathe, much less cast another spell as a means to escape. This was it, this was her end.

"Such a shame to destroy a beauty of your caliber," Grima said regrettably. Tharja's violet clothes were torn in a few places, her cloak singed and tattered halfway through. Her golden hairpiece and accessories endured so much to the point where they looked like they would fall apart within any given moment. The lustrous shine on her long, raven hair had faded, strewn in different directions, unruly as ever. She sported several gashes that sullied her pale, olive skinned cheeks.

And yet even after all she'd been through she was still enticingly beautiful.

Her hands struggled to break free from Grima's grasp, her breath dwindling as he held her higher. There was no escape, she knew that much. Tharja closed her eyes as a single tear dropped from the corner of her eye. She not only failed Robin once, but twice. There was so much more she'd wanted to do, so much she wanted to see. And through it all, she hoped Robin would be by her side to enjoy it wholeheartedly.

Grima tightened his grip around her neck while his other hand swirled with his final spell. Just as his hand grew brighter with malevolent magic, he stopped chanting and dropped Tharja onto the ground. He noticed the brief streak of blue zip past him, and pain immediately exploded from his left side. "Gahhh!" He stammered back and lay a hand to his injury.

Tharja crawled back as far as she could go. The grass and moonflowers were too high for her to see much, but upon her release it was clear she wasn't alone. Someone had come to her aid at the last second, saving her from her impending demise.

Grima spun around, eying the culprit who managed to land a hit. Red seeped along his side staining the cream colored fabric of his shirt. Tharja's mysterious ally lowered his sword, his deep blue cape flowing freely with the wind. He wore a mask that resembled a butterfly lined with golden etchings and sported a matching golden headpiece. Slowly, Tharja rose from the ground to get a better view of her situation.

The masked man watched Tharja with a careful eye. "I made it just in time," he muttered to himself, sighing with relief.

Grima narrowed his eyes dangerously as the newcomer, but his expression quickly changed to amusement. Instead of raging out his anger, he released a bemused, maniacal laugh. Tharja swallowed a nervous lump in her throat.

The masked man readied his sword, swinging it around with expertise. Tharja took a better look at his weapon. She'd seen it before in battle, the timeless blade Falchion. But she didn't understand why he had it. Falchion was a birthright, a sword wielded only by those who had royal, Ylissean blood.

When Grima's laughter died down all fell silent. "That was quite the entrance." The masked man came at just the right time, had he been a second later, Tharja would be as good as dead. "And the last strike managed to cut pretty deep too." Grima released his hand, but when he did, his wound was already gone.

The man exhaled slowly, not surprised by Grima's speedy recovery. He was already aware of the supernatural abilities he possessed while using Robin's body as a vessel. No, this was no ordinary battle he'd have. This was going to be difficult. He needed to tread with caution. "You've no right here, Grima." His voice came out a pitch lower, but he enunciated every word clearly with an authoritative tone.

"I have every right, Tiny One." Grima wasted no time on closing in for an attack. He spoke to the him with such familiarity as if they'd met before. Tharja held her breath as she watched the two fight on the field. Her new ally wielded Falchion as though they were fated partners in combat. He narrowly dodged every spell sent his way and struck out with a grunt as he managed to land another hit to Grima's side. She had to do something, lest he kill Robin in the heat of battle. Tharja held out her hand and clutched the tome as it flipped open. "Nosferatu!"

A wave of purple magic spiraled into the air between them , forcing Grima to retreat to his side. The man now had his back to Tharja. He looked back, his face unreadable because of the mask he wore. "You can't kill him," she began. "Robin's still in there."

"He's no longer the Robin you came to know." He replied sternly.

"No." Tharja shook her head. This man may have saved her life, but she was determined to keep Robin safe, even from him.

"No?" He asked quizzically.

"I'm confident he's still in there, it's just a matter of getting him back."

He returned his attention to Grima. "I trust you have a plan?"

Tharja steadied herself and looked down at her ring. "I can only think of one, but it should work."

He readied Falchion as he watched Grima recover his wounds. "We'll need to move quickly," he suggested. "Tell me what you have in mind."

Tharja flipped a few pages in her book. "I can conjure a spell that can render him still and try to exorcise Grima, but it will take some time. I need you to distract him until it's ready."

The boy swallowed thickly. "How long will it take?"

"I'm not sure," Tharja read through a few Plegian letters. "Heavier spells take more time." Her words failed to reassure her new ally. Grima was growing stronger by the second. She wasn't sure if he would last long in a duel between the two of them. "Give me five minutes."

The boy nodded in agreement. He hope she'd need less time for their sake. "Wait," Tharja reached out just as he took a step forward. "Your name. Tell me your name."

The boy fell silent as if to contemplate on the most appropriate response. "You may call me Marth."

"Marth," she mouthed out. It was like heroic king of old. Tharja took a better look at the masked man and his blue hair. "You have my thanks."

Marth cracked a small, faint smile but it vanished as soon as it appeared. "You shouldn't thank me yet, the real battle has yet to ensue."

"Right," Tharja agreed. "And Marth," he turned around cautiously. Tharja felt her heart flutter with uncertainty and nervousness. "Please, don't die."

Marth could only reply with a solemn nod. For his sake he hoped he wouldn't. He crossed the field as calmly as he could, but deep down he was more than a little frightened. In his past Grima had awakened fully, shed out of Robin's mortal vessel body. His size had grown tremendously, about twenty castles high and fueled by the desire to burn and destroy everything in his sight.

Marth closed his eyes, dreading the destruction he'd lived through. There was so much sadness, so much sorrow and strife. "Come to meet your inevitable death?" Grima taunted.

Marth tightened his grip on Falchion. He couldn't afford to think of the past. He would right things in this world and prevent Grima's rise to power at all costs. Marth dashed towards Grima, slicing through the air as he closed in for a strike."What chance do you have against power like mine?" Grima shot a series of dark spells as they followed Marth wherever they went. The young lord rolled to his right as the spark of magic singed the edge of his cape. "Your mother and father are dead." Grima reminded him triumphantly. It was impossible to dodge every spell, some landed on his arm and leg, burning away the Ylissean sewn fabric. "And soon this world will fall, just as it did worlds before."

Marth was forced back to retreat. Was Grima growing stronger? He looked up at clouds in the sky, then at the full golden moon. He knew this day was a special one, a time when dark magic was at its peak. With the odds against him did he even stand a chance? He looked back at Tharja who was still working on the spell. Grima noticed it too and decided to change his target. With a wave of his hand, dark spirals spun out at Tharja's direction. Marth couldn't deflect any form of magic, but nonetheless, he rushed to protect her from it. He endured the attack head on and dug Falchion into the ground to steady himself. Red slipped across the side of his face and left arm. He'd never felt magic this strong before, not even when he challenged the other Future Children. "Your opponent is me." He gathered his strength and held Falchion with one hand. From behind him, Tharja was just about finished with the spell. Now it was only a matter of casting it in the right direction.

"Very well," Grima grinned. Marth looked back at Tharja as brief understanding passed between them. Now came the most important part, distracting Grima long enough to release the spell. Charging with all the strength he had, Marth closed the distance and together Grima and him dueled around the field of moonflowers. He struck left and right tirelessly to prevent Grima from releasing any full blown spell. Eventually, Marth pushed back with Falchion, leaving Grima vulnerable for a split second.

It was then that Tharja cast the spell and bound him with invisible ties. The violet symbols began to encircle Grima just as they did before. "No!" He cried out. Marth stepped back and watched the ritual carefully. Tharja began chanting louder until Grima fell to his knees, clawing at the ground as his head was filled with screeching noises. The crimson color in his eyes began to recede into one and with the last ounce of strength he met eyes with the so-called-hero Marth. "I will come back Tiny One, and when I do your father will die by my hand."

Marth steeled himself beyond the shadows of his mask as Grima's last words left a cold shiver down his spine. He watched Grima cry out one last time before his presence vanished from Robin's body. Their tactician fell to the ground with a thud and Tharja's tome broke, the papers in it withering away as the spell took a toll on its pages.

"Robin!" Tharja immediately rushed to the tactician's body and held him in her arms. He was unconscious but still breathing. She quickly checked the tattoo on his right hand that he kept hidden away from the others. It no longer glowed like it did earlier. She pressed a hand to his neck to feel the magic energy coursing in his veins.

"Is he...himself?" Marth asked from afar.

Tharja took a moment to check. Robin's magic energy returned to normal for now. "Yes," she confirmed.

"And what of Grima?"

The fell dragon had left some considerable damage on both of them tonight. "It's difficult to say." Tharja pursed her lips warily.

Marth drew Falchion from his side. "If you are uncertain of the outcome, then I have no choice but to slay him where he stands." Grima's last words echoed deep in his mind. He knew it was no empty threat.

Tharja wrapped her arms around Robin protectively. "No, you can't!"

"He is too dangerous to keep alive," Marth said. "Tonight was but a glimpse of the destruction he can cause. If you only knew what would come next..." He allowed the words to linger in the air for Tharja to complete.

"You can't, I-" Tharja lay a hand to Robin's tattooed hand when a sudden surge of magic coursed from him to her. She saw images, vivid ones that came to her all at once. Suddenly, there was an endless hill of sands, Plegia no doubt, and a large castle. Robin stood in it, spending time usually in the library or halls. Then there was a woman, perhaps older than he, with dark skin and long, silky white hair. She never showed her face, but from the back her body held enough curves to drive any man mad. Everything began moving faster and soon, Robin was outside in a field, in the middle of nowhere. He was on the ground, unconscious, but soundly asleep.

A loud ringing noise erupted out of the blue and Tharja came back, snapping out of her vision. She took a moment to breathe. Those were Robin's memories. "It worked," she mumbled to herself softly. Marth took a step back, not quite sure what he'd seen. Even without so much as a single touch at Robin, he'd witnessed it too - a glimpse of the tactician's past life. His resolve faltered for a moment as he took a better look at Grima's vessel. He was vulnerable now, and even with Tharja's leftover magic, victory would be in his favor. Marth steadied Falchion in his hand, but as soon as he did, Tharja collapsed on the ground. He sheathed his blade to his side and bent down to the young sorcerer's side. She was still alive, but tonight's events had taken a heavy toll on her body. With Tharja out of the way, all that was left was to kill Robin where he lay. Marth set the edge of Falchion's blade to the tactician's heart carefully, piercing just the tip of his shirt.

But just as he was seconds from impaling his blade into Robin, he withdrew and slowly turned around. He sensed someone behind him, though it wasn't entirely clear if the new presence was friend or foe. There was man he'd never seen in his life; tall, slightly tanned, had darker blue hair than his own. The man didn't move from the trees, but Marth seemed to note that this man may not be any ordinary passerby. He could tell by the choice of armor he wore and the rustic blade by his side.

"Will you really decide this man's fate solely by the actions he'd committed tonight?" The man stepped forward into the light slowly.

For his best interest it was better not to mingle with other outsiders, but the man's words struck a cord. "No, I'm judging him based on the actions he will make in the future."

The man finally stayed quiet, but gave Marth's response some thought. "You do not believe he will make the right decisions."

Marth looked down at Robin. "No."

"And so you will take his life with your own hand?"

"If it has come to that, then yes." Marth poised his blade once more over Robin's heart, ready to strike, but his hand began to waver slightly. His resolve began to crumble. To kill him now would prevent the rise of Grima. He had to do it, it was for the best. It would save lives-save his people.

And yet he withdrew again, unable to finish the deed. He couldn't do it.

By the time Marth exhaled deeply, the man had placed one of his hands on top of his shoulder. In the silence that passed between them, he seemed to say he did the right thing. Marth hoped he did because he was sure he wouldn't get another chance like this again. With the two Shepherds asleep on the ground, he couldn't afford to just leave them there. Despite his Grimleal bloodline, Robin proved himself then and again to be a valuable asset to the Shepherds.

Slowly, he took Tharja by the arm and slung her around his shoulder. He wasn't sure if he could manage carrying both of them back, but he had to try. The cut to his side stung sharply and for a second, Marth lost his balance and nearly fell to the ground.

"Steady now," the man said worriedly. "And just where do you think you're going?"

Marth winced the pain away. "Back to their camp. I can't afford to stay and watch over them. They have to be back with their comrades."

When he believed Marth was strong enough to hold his own, he released him and slung Robin over his shoulder. The feat seemed to be as easy as picking up firewood. Marth took a moment to consider trusting the man at all. He needed help, but if he were to tag along it would give away the Shepherd's location.

"I can manage on my own," he tried to sound convincing.

"Not with those wounds. You would die of blood loss if you even hoped to carry this one back." The man tilted his head to Robin's unconscious body.

"I'll...take my chances."

"You don't trust me." The man narrowed his eyes at Marth, then to his sheathed sword by his side. He'd recognized the legendary blade by its craftsmanship from a distance. The sword was forged with only the finest material, imperial gold and silver. "Perhaps this might convince you otherwise." With one hand, he revealed the length of his weapon holding it out in the moonlight for Marth to see. There he saw the clear wear, the blade itself cracked, pale and worn down.

"This is-" Marth began.

"Ragnell," the blue haired hero confirmed. "You see now that I am no threat to you or your friends." When Marth waited for a better explanation, he tossed his sword to his other hand. "Because I am Ike's descendant, Priam."

* * *

Marth set down Tharja into her bed and threw a blanket over her figure. So much had happened tonight, so much he didn't foresee. He took the seat beside Tharja and examined her fingers. There was no evidence of the ring she created to channel in the dark magic tonight. "It may be for the better," he said and took one final look at Tharja. He barely made it in time to save her. If he'd been a second later, Grima would have had his way and tonight the Shepherds would've lost a talented sorcerer.

He'd left Priam outside to stand watch, just in case any of the Shepherds would walk in on them. Marth looked over Tharja's wounds realizing it would be most unwise if he allowed them to fester. Slowly, he took out something from his pocket, pulling out a small jar of salve and began applying it to her injuries. He was just about finished when Priam snapped his fingers, a small cue to tell him to hurry up.

Finally, Marth parted from Tharja and stepped out of her tent. "That took longer than expected." Priam said.

"Apologies, she was more injured than I assumed. I had to tend to her wounds."

Priam nodded and together they made for the woods. Marth looked back at the Shepherds' tents, first to Robin's then to their leader, Chrom. He paused as Priam continued onwards. "I'll follow after you. I just remembered I forgot something."

Before Priam could say a word, Marth doubled back for the tent, making sure his footsteps were as light as a feather. The last thing he needed was to wake the Shepherds. When he reached his destination, he held out his hand as if to open Chrom's tent.

But then he pulled back and dropped his hand. "What am I doing?" He asked himself in a soft whisper. His heart tightened in his chest and he stepped back slowly.

It wasn't the right time and he knew it. He was sure they would cross paths in the future, just as they did at Arena Ferox.

With a heavy heart, Marth walked back, determined to meet with Priam just as they had planned. But it didn't take long for his presence to be noted.

"Wait, you're-"

Marth turned to his right to find Chrom's sister Lissa just a few paces away. Behind the screen of his mask, his eyes widened and he broke into a sprint.

"Wait!" Lissa called out, making sure to keep her voice low.

Just a few meters was all Marth needed to break for the woods, but Lissa cut him off at the last second. She held out her staff across his chest and Marth stopped altogether. He stared at her intensely, not wanting to cause her any harm. If there were witnesses of his visit, it could get potentially problematic.

"Marth, was it?" She asked.

Marth remained silent but replied with a single nod.

"What are you-what are you doing here?" Lissa took a better look at his clothes, tattered and torn in several places. She noticed the wounds on his arms, the scratches on his cheeks, and his lower abdomen. "You're hurt!"

Marth stepped back and winced. He had forgotten to tend to the cut on his side. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not." Lissa stepped closer and watched the blood seep through his clothes. It was a deep cut, she could tell by just one look. "Let me tend to it."

Marth backed up until his back collided against the nearest tree. He could make a run for it, but the pain had become much worse. Clearly, he'd underestimated the length of his injuries.

"It'll be quick, I promise." Lissa's eyes shifted between Marth and his wound. He was showing very little resistance now that his pain had become almost unbearable. Carefully, she held up the end of her staff as it began to glow green, the magic working its way to Marth's wound. She watched the masked boy wince then sigh as a wave of relief washed over him. When she finally lifted her staff, the wound was gone. Marth touched his side and exhaled deeply. "There, now was that so bad?"

Marth let out a gratified, "Thank you"

Lissa blushed and held her staff with both hands. "It's the least I can do, for you know..." She tried her best to meet Marth's eyes beyond the screen of his mask. "For saving me." Lissa smiled sweetly. "I guess this makes us even."

Marth nodded, his eyes never leaving Lissa's. "I should get going now."

"Yeah," Lissa said a little sadly. But just as Marth turned on his heel, she held his gloved hand and leaned up to kiss him gently on the cheek. "I'm not going to ask why you were here, or how you got yourself beaten up, but I know you had your reasons. So just this once, I'll let you go." She released his hand and quickly ran back to her post, where Marth watched her from a distance.

When Lissa was gone, Marth turned back to the woods and rested his hand by the closest tree. He was sure they would meet again.

* * *

A few days passed since that night, and while Robin and Tharja failed to remember what exactly happened, they thought it best to keep it to themselves until they would find an answer. The last thing Tharja remembered was that they were at the summit where the moonlight flowers grew and then...nothing.

She tried her hand at a few memory spells, but came up empty handed. She'd at least wanted to know why she woke that morning beaten and bruised half to death. Mauled by bears? No. Attacked by Risen? Possibly. The fact that Robin woke with scars and wounds didn't make things any easier either.

And then there was the case of her ring, the one she made that night to channel more magic. It was gone when she woke from her slumber. Disappointed and utterly frustrated with herself, Tharja sighed heavily and went to work, reading up the next batch of spells and hexes. She was determined to get to the bottom of that night - one way or another.

* * *

Robin fell back against the luscious green, grass and slid his eyes shut. This was going to be much more difficult than he expected. While Tharja was busy preparing and reading up on spells, she suggested that he think long and hard and try to remember the events himself. Well, it was easier said than done, especially since Robin already had the problem of being an amnesiac.

He sighed and took several deep breaths, drinking in the breeze and the way his blonde hair swayed gently to and fro. Slowly, he felt himself sink deep into a light slumber, his body feeling as light a feather as his head lolled to the side.

_"You don't have to do this!" Robin cried out almost desperately. _

_"I think we both know that I do, love."_

Robin flinched in his sleep, his eyebrows scrunched together as he tried to make out who exactly he was addressing.

_"Move," the woman said sternly. "As much as I take pleasure inflicting pain on others, you know I enjoy hurting you the most." _

_Robin stood firmly by the door, blocking the unnamed woman's exit. "No."_

_"Very well," with a flick of her wrist Robin dropped to the ground, his eyes growing hazy just as he made out the outline of her silhouette walking out the door. Then everything went dark._

The visions went into a fast forward, and in the next moment he was in a strange, large castle. It wasn't Ylisse's he was sure about that. Red and gold banners were decorated along the halls and even then, Robin couldn't pinpoint which castle it belonged to.

_"Wait, please!" Someone cried out desperately. "I don't know what you want, but if it's gold I have plenty of it!_

Robin narrowed his eyes at the man who wore a golden, regal crown atop his brown hair. Was he speaking with a King? A Prince?

_"Just please, don't-don't do this-" the man begged pathetically, holding up his hands as he was backed up to a corner. A pair of hands wrapped around the man's collar, dragging him up against the wall._

In the next moment, red was splattered all over the room and the man cried out so loudly Robin could feel his screams ringing in his ear. But it didn't end there. Running, someone was running and at a pretty fast pace too. It went on until the man tripped and landed on his face, the fall coming off ungracefully.

Robin looked up at the hooded man and swallowed hard.

Along his right hand was the same tattoo he had, the mark of Grima. Blood decorated the skin there, painting it as though it had been there for quite some time.

Robin finally woke up from his dream, a trail of sweat coating the top of his forehead. It might've been a nightmare, but it certainly didn't feel like one. Sitting upright, he carefully removed the glove on his right hand and watched it carefully, the violet ink undeniably there, a reminder of his true heritage.

It didn't take long for him to reach a conclusion. Perhaps those visions weren't dreams or nightmares. Maybe they were memories of his past life. Robin turned over his hands, reading them carefully. He didn't want to believe it, but the possibility was extremely high.

The stranger who killed the man was no other than himself, Robin.

* * *

A/N: Oh, this came out longer than I anticipated but I do hope you enjoyed the long read. Writing a fic with possessed Grimleal Robin has been on my mind for quite some time now, dating all the way to "Don't Look Back" - a precursor to Robin's origins.

I don't think the game truly went into great depth over the fact of how easily Robin could lose himself to Grima. So I decided to write this up as a way to show just how powerful and how vulnerable he truly is. Oh and Marth's appearance was very short lived in game, so I decided to lengthen that as well.


End file.
